


Arcane Nightblade

by SeraphicMayin



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 22:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11792451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphicMayin/pseuds/SeraphicMayin
Summary: Rindrum Elandes is the son of a female assassin who escaped with Cicero before the last Cyrodil Dark Brotherhood sanctuary was destroyed. When his mother's attempt at reforming the Brotherhood in Cyrodil ends with the death of his family, Rin leaves for the College of Winterhold in Skyrim. He intends to become a mage-assassin like his late father, despite his mother's request for him to leave the Dark Brotherhood behind and pursue his passion for magic alone.On the way however, he befriends the Stormcloaks before the ambush that ultimately leads to the chaos at Helgen. Unfortunately, Rin has reservations about being the Dragonborn. It's only after meeting a proud Nord mage that he begins to accept this destiny.~Onmund had a rough time growing up in a proud Nord family. After befriending an old Dunmer mage who discovers his innate gift, he delves into the arcane arts. When his teacher declares that there's no more he can teach him, Onmund sets his sights on the College.Once there, he feels more alienated than ever. It's only after meeting the mysterious Dunmer that he learns what family ought to feel like.~Illustrations are in each Chapter~





	1. No Future for the Brotherhood

**Author's Note:**

> In hindsight, I may have taken liberties with Cicero's history and some of the history of Dark Brotherhood after the war. Forgive the inaccuracies to the canon backstory prior to E4 201. He's a side character at the most so it shouldn't be too disruptive.

# Arcane Nightblade

##  Chapter 1 : No Future for the Brotherhood

**Circa 4E 175**

The last Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary in Cyrodill had fallen.

Of the last assassins, Rindrum Elandes charged the Keeper, Cicero, with ensuring his wife escape. The Thalmor had crushed through most of their lines of defense and in no time they would be in the inner sanctum.

“I stay!” Cicero said, refusing to budge from his dearest friend’s side.

Rindrum Elandes turned on him, fire in his black eyes. Though the Dunmer was shorter than Cicero, he intimidated the Imperial. “If the Keeper and future of our Brotherhood die here, then I should lay down my arms and let us be slaughtered.” He walked up to Cicero and shoved him back toward the concealed passage in the building.

Cicero almost ran into Mera, who was dressed to travel. She reached out and took his arm. “Rindrum is right, Cicero. If we want the Brotherhood to survive this war...” She protectively stroked her stomach, which had just begun to show the pregnancy. “We must leave.” A Dunmer like her husband, Mera Elandes looked to Cicero with pleading red eyes. He could see how barely she held back tears.

The Keeper could only growl in frustration. He turned and went to Rindrum, clasping him in a tight embrace. “Survive.” He pleaded into his ear before turning away, unable to look at him anymore. “I’m going to see if the exit is clear. Hurry, Mera.”

Mera nodded to him and rushed into her husband’s open arms to give him the last hug he’d ever have. To give him the last kiss he’d ever have. “I will name our child after you.”

“Rindrum’s hardly a name for a baby girl.” He grinned and pressed his forehead to hers. She gently hit his chest, laughing but her voice cracked.

“It will be a boy. I can feel it in my marrow.” She blinked and two tears escaped. Rindrum kissed each one, stopping them in their tracks.

 They could hear screams beyond the door of the innermost sanctum. Closer than before. “Mera, hear me,” Rindrum said, “Rebuild the Brotherhood, so our child can see it in its glory.”

“I will. I will.” Mera clasped his hands, flinching as she heard a small explosion beyond the door that shook the ceiling. Dust rained upon them. “I love you.” Then she felt Cicero’s hand on her shoulder. It was time to leave.

**

For six months, Cicero and Mera hid in the slums of a large city. Cicero took the disguise of a jester to earn them coin and look after Mera. Both almost lost all hope after it was confirmed that no one survived the raid on their Sanctuary.

Mera grew angrier day by day. She planned and plotted and prayed. She only took walks at night and used them to explore ways in her mind to gain initiates and rebuild the Brotherhood.

Cicero watched as Mera spiraled into an obsession of vengeance against the Thalmor. He recognized the behavior because he had seen it in many assassins when they discovered the Thalmor had begun to root them out.

He had partly become a jester, which would later become his identity, to cheer Mera. Though an assassin at heart, he learned the ways of a Merryman. But over time, the weight of their loss, the fear that the Night Mother’s body would be found and desecrated ate away at the pieces of his mind.

His behavior became more like the cartoon jester he played and by the time Mera went into labor, he had all but lost his mind to that persona. Thankfully the fire of love he had for the Brotherhood was all that kept him, relatively, sane.

Six months after the end of the war, in the first hour after midnight, Mera Elandes gave birth to a baby boy. Cicero was the first to hold him after the midwife cut the umbilical cord. The baby Dunmer was a deep, dark blue and his had his father’s eyes, which were nothing but shades of black that glistened in the light. “Cicero thinks,” Cicero said, tilting his head with a broad grin at the baby who had _just_ stopped crying, “your child will look exactly like his father when he grows.”

He came to sit by her bed and handed Mera her son. Mera took the baby’s hand, feeling a strong grip barely able to wrap around her first finger. Sniffing, she said, “We will call him Rindrum. My little Rin.” She brought her forehead to his, shaking slightly as sobs overtook her.

The jester sat closer and held the mother and child. He made a silent vow that night. Cicero would protect Mera and Rin until the boy grew of age and was old enough to protect himself. Then he would unearth the Night Mother and fly to Skyrim, for none of the Cyrodil sanctuaries were safe. Not anymore.

Unfortunately, he would soon learn that Mera had the opposite in mind. She wanted to reestablish the Brotherhood in the Imperial’s land, for she was driven by vengeance and not the painful pragmatism of the Keeper. He would never be able to convince her.

**

“Mother! Mother look!” A ten-year-old Dunmer ran up to Mera, who had just returned to the campsite.

Mera wearily took off her Shrouded cowl. She had just returned from a contract: someone had wanted an oppressive business owner dead. In the ten years since her child was born, she had found five new initiates and decided that for the time being, the new Dark Brotherhood would have to be nomadic. “At your hands?” she asked. A small smile played on her lips; she would entertain him, for as long as she had energy. “Why, they’re empty.”

Rin grinned proudly. “That’s because I haven’t done anything yet!” He waved his hands, brow furrowing. But nothing happened. He looked up at his mother, and could tell her patience had begun to run thin. “Wait…hold on, I just did it for Uncle Cicero! Right?” Rin looked over his shoulder at Cicero, who was sitting on a bench nearby, carving a flute. He looked up and nodded, giving Mera a bright grin.

            Mera crossed her arms and waited a bit more as Rin began to hold his hands still. She watched his eyes concentrate. After a moment, the hands began to glow red. Steadily, steadily small yellow and orange flames began to lick and spark up his fingers.

“I did it! See?” In his excitement, Rin jumped but that broke his concentration and the spell of Flames faded. He looked disappointed at first, but then shocked as Mera fell to her knees and pulled him into a crushing hug.

            “Mother?” Rin brought his arms around her back, sounding concerned.

            His mother pulled back after a few moments, and he could see her eyes shining with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, “You just reminded me so much of your father.” She took Rin’s face into her hands and put their foreheads together. “Oh if I could only send you to the mages’ college he attended. But we have much work to do.”

            Rin blinked. A college? For magic? The very idea made his heart leap. However, a single thought turned that heart into a stone which tumbled to his stomach. He and mother had a mission. He had to become an assassin, for her, for his father. Running off to a college and leaving her alone was unthinkable.

            For Mera’s sake, Rin gave her a reassuring grin. “I don’t want to go to some college. I’ll learn the ways of the Assassin. And when we have our Family back, then I’ll learn more magic.”

            Behind him, unseen by both, Cicero frowned. Cyrodil was no longer a place for the Brotherhood, but he could not say that to Mera, nor did he want to turn his beloved nephew against her. He held his tongue, but over the years he encouraged Rin’s simple practices into magic, finding him books of spells and alchemy.

            Rin took to alchemy with aplomb, and because it allowed him to create poisons and potions, his mother encouraged it as well. Otherwise, when Rin turned 16 and became a fully fledged initiate, he would have little to do with the Arcane arts and more to do with the skills that allowed him to kill from the safety of shadow.

            **

        **E4 201**

            The last of his Family had fallen. Again.

            Rindrum stood in the middle of the smoking debris that was the Dark Brotherhood’s…his Family’s campsite. Charred remains of an Orc and a young Breton woman were nearby. The other handful of assassins were mere ashes given how long the fire had been going.

            During his last mission, many cities away, Rin had overheard his target talking to the Penitus Oculatus about their trap for the slowly growing Dark Brotherhood. They had been gaining notoriety in the last five years, and the Penitus didn’t like that.

            He narrowly escaped the ambush that they had for him once he successfully killed that target, only to slip up and get spotted due to his anger and fear for the Family.

            The only part of him that felt relief was knowing that ten years prior, Cicero declared that he was going to retrieve the Night Mother’s body and take her to Skyrim. Cicero was strong; he had to be alive, even now.

The Keeper had tried to get Mera and the rest of the Brotherhood to go with him, but Mera was so fixated on reestablishing the Brotherhood there, in Cyrodil, that she forbade anyone to go with him. Rin had said his goodbye with a heavy heart, almost unable to pull away from that last hug he gave to his uncle.

            Cicero had left Mera with a warning that she brushed off: Her desire for vengeance would destroy her Family. There was no future for the Brotherhood in Cyrodil.

            Rindrum’s ears perked when he heard a groan from the bushes some ways from the campsite. It sounded like a woman. “Mother.” He whispered and ran toward the voice.

            Downhill in a densely-packed grove of bushes he found Mera crumpled onto the ground. “No, no, no, no…” He prayed silently that she was alright. Surely, she had to be. They hadn’t completed their mission yet.

            Turning her onto her back, he pulled her up into his arms, cradling her head. “Mother, please. Open your eyes.”

            Red orbs peeked out from grey eyelids. Mera’s unfocused gaze slid over Rin’s face. Her lower lip had been split and from the look of it she seemed to have dragged herself into the bushes with a broken leg. But she was breathing. “Assassin’s don’t cry, child.” She said, almost smiling.

            “I can heal you.” Rin said, his voice shaking, “Stay awake, please.” He held a golden glowing hand over her abdomen, where a large cut had torn through her Shrouded armor. But he had forgotten that the only spell of healing he knew was for self-healing. Cursing internally, he searched his pack for a potion.

            “Rin, love.” Mera reached over and took his hand. “Stop.”

            “No!” Rin tried to take his hand away, but her grip tightened and she glared.

            “They are still after you. You must save yourself.” She swallowed, looking away. “I should have listened to Cicero.”

            “No we can…I can take you with me.” He clung to her.

            “Hear me, Rin,” she said, her voice was getting weaker but Mera furrowed her brow and spoke steadily, “Leave Cyrodil. Go to the College of Winterhold in Skyrim. When your father was your age, he studied there. Why he became an assassin I’ll never know, but he was a damn fine mage. And a good man. And you are just like him.” Her hand came to rest on his cheek. “Don’t let vengeance drive you. I see now there’s no future for the Brotherhood. Leave it behind. Follow your own destiny Rin. Promise me.”

            Rin didn’t want to. For under his grief, a fire had been set and it wanted the Penitus hurt. He wanted to tear them apart until there were none left. Just like his Family had been torn. Just like his Mother was about to be torn from him. He closed his eyes and brought his head to her forehead for the last time. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “I promise,” he said. What could you say to a dying loved one? His heart wasn’t in the promise, but he would lie if it gave her some peace.

            “Forgive me.” She whispered. “I love you.”

            Rin raised his head to return to words but he was met with glassy, blank eyes. His hands began to shake. “I forgive you,” He said, “and I love you too.”

            **

            The wheels of a laden cart hit a pothole in the road, startling Rin out of his sleep. Wincing, he shifted where he sat, legs and wrists feeling sore in the sunlight that speckled the path. He began to get his bearings once he heard a man’s voice.

            “Oh good, you’re awake,” the man said. Rin saw the man’s tied hands then looked to his own, similarly bound but with additional markings on the tight leather that prevented a flow of magic to his hands. “Rindrum, are you alright?” the man spoke up again.

            Rin raised his head to look up at Ralof, a new friend. When a breeze passed he realized how cold and wet his cheeks felt. Rin brought up his hands to wipe at the remaining tears. “Just a bad dream,” he said, looking to his right.

            Ulfric Stormcloak, bound and gagged, sat beside him. Rin’s eyes widened in shock. “Jarl! What happened?” He looked from the Jarl to Ralof with such speed it made his head dizzy.

            Ralof looked grim. “Imperial ambush. I’m sorry my friend, it seems your journey to the college has been cut short."


	2. The Wolf Wields Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onmund discovers his talent for magic after a run in with an old Dunmer.

#  **Chapter 2: The Wolf Wields Lightning**

“Onmund, keep up!” A gangly teenage boy ran backwards down the stone streets of Solitude. He grinned tauntingly at his younger brother. “If you can’t, you should just go home,” Gelf said, turning on his heel to continue the race. 

The stone path split around a decorated garden with two large boulders embedded in the middle. Gelf leaped over the first and dropped down on the other side.

“I can keep up,” ten-year-old Onmund said. He huffed on his way toward the boulders. Short for his age and not nearly as strong as his brother, Onmund measured himself against the boulders and diverted his path. He ran around the rocks, careful not to trample the flowers as Gelf had done. So concentrated was he at this task that he didn’t notice Gelf’s long leg stick out from behind the boulder until he he was already tumbling to the ground. 

His path intersected with a passerby’s and Onmund crashed into a towering man carrying a stack of books. Said man dropped the books in favor of catching Onmund as both of them fell to the ground. While the books scattered about them, the man’s hood slipped back to reveal that it wasn’t a man at all.

  


An aged Dunmer gazed down at Onmund before looking up at Gelf with a frown. The boy froze in fear. This Dunmer was one of their neighbors; a mage who lived at the far end of their street. 

Before the Mer could scold the teenage Nord for his carelessness, Gelf stuttered before turning tail and running away. All he could do was sigh at this. He had come to expect this of his neighbors, who all tended to avoid him and warn their children to keep a distance as well. In spite of this, they had no problem paying for alchemical cures from his apothecary. 

A soft groan brought his attention back to Onmund. He sat up and helped Onmund do the same. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

Onmund raised his head and the alchemist could see tears welling in his eyes. A glance to his knees explained why. The boy had scraped them badly when he fell. The Mer’s expression softened to a kind smile as Onmund sniffed, looking up at him with equal measure of apology and fear. 

“There there,” the old Mer said, “My name is Banoras.” 

“Onmund,” the boy mumbled.

Banoras pointed to Onmund’s knees. “That must hurt. I can heal it for you, if you like.”

Onmund nodded then said, “Please.”

The old Dunmer smiled. He liked the boy already; Onmund was polite. He brought his grey hands to Onmund’s knees gently. After a moment they began to glow a golden-orange and seemed to emanate a sound of soft chimes.

“What’s that?” Onmund stared, transfixed.

“It is a spell called Healing Hands.” Banoras said.

Onmund felt a warmth from the aura of the spell and fidgeted at first but soon held still. “Thank you,” he said with a smile when Banoras removed his hands to reveal unblemished knees. His smile soon faded however. “I’m sorry I ran into you.”

Banoras just shook his head and began to stand up, groaning softly from his sore bones that ached from the fall. Onmund scrambled to his feet and tool hold of Banoras’ arm, lending his shoulder to help. The Mer smiled with appreciation. “It wasn’t your fault.” Properly on his feet he rubbed his lower back, hands briefly glowing a yellow-golden hue, subtly different from the earlier spell. 

The young Nord watched. With a tilt of his head he asked, “Can you teach me how to do that?”

At this, Banoras laughed. He said, “A Nord boy wants to learn  _ magic? _ Whatever for?” His eyebrows raised in a good-natured and curious expression.

Onmund pouted, not liking being laughed at. “My brother--.” He looked around and noticed that Gelf was gone.

“You mean the boy who tripped you?” Banoras raised an eyebrow. He supposed the boys looked similar; they had the same dark brown hair. “Oh he ran off.”

“ _ He’ _ s why I want to learn.” Onmund’ face pinched in anger. “He’s always pushing me around! And twisting my arm.” His shoulders fell. “I’m not strong enough to win but if I know Healing Hands then I can make it not hurt after.”

Seeing Onmund’s hopeful face, Banoras took a breath; he didn’t want to disappoint the boy. “First, we would have to see if you have an affinity for magic.” He bent down to begin picking up his books. 

Onmund crouched and helped, picking up a tome that attracted his eye. With a habit that would follow him well into adulthood, Onmund pulled in his lower lip as he read the title. “Sparks?” he asked, looking up. He didn’t notice that the rune for Sparks on the cover had begun to glow faintly between his hands, but Banoras did.

The old Mer’s demeanor shifted to something of delight when he realized Onmund may just have the gift. “If you help me carry these books home, I think I can teach you the spell of Healing, which is what you need. Not Healing Hands.”

Onmund’s eyes widened with joy. “Really?” He clutched the book close to his chest before going to scoop up a few more. “What’s the difference?”

Banoras laughed, the sound coming from deep inside his chest. “Yes really. And the difference is that Healing is for yourself, Healing Hands is for others.”

From that day, Onmund began to learn the basics of the clever arts from Banoras. Before long the Mer realized that Onmund had much potential for magic, and so did his family.

When his father, Eldry, and his mother, Katlene, found out, their first reaction was to forbid him from going to Banoras to learn. By then, however, the young Onmund had found his passion. He became very good at sneaking out of the house once per week to get a lesson from Banoras. 

This continued for a few years until Onmund found it in himself to declare to his father that he wanted to become a Mage. This declaration only ended with Eldry attempting to enforce a stricter policy on Onmund. He tried to get Onmund to train with Gelf who was learning to become a Guard, but really it was just a way to get Gelf to keep an eye on his younger brother. 

Both brothers hated this. In the end Gelf helped cover Onmund’s sneaking away to his Magic lessons in the knowledge that if Onmund got caught, Gelf wasn’t going to take responsibility. Onmund was fine with this; he had gotten used to having to stick up for himself. 

But when the day came that he was inevitably found out, much to his surprise, Gelf defended his right to pursue his passion. When asked why he did it, Onmund got his reply, “I still think this magic dabbling is going to end up with you as a smudge on the wall, but no one should try to stop you from doing it. Not me, not even father.”  

Onmund, in appreciation of this, began a negotiation with his father. He would practice the so-called Nord ways--learning to wield heavy weapons and train to wear heavy armor that he didn’t care for--and also practice the Arcane arts--which the family settled for simply not talking about. He eventually grew taller than his brother and broader too, filling in the heavy armor he trained with, but he never got the taste for two-handed swords and hammers. To the delight of his mother however, he became proficient with a bow.

All of this ran smoothly for years, until the day Banoras told Onmund that he had nothing more he could teach him.

Onmund looked at his mentor with disbelief. He had spent seventeen years learning magic from Banoras. “I don’t understand.”

Banoras smiled patiently. “I am not a master mage Onmund. And I only practice Restoration, Destruction and Alchemy. You would be better served continuing your studies at the College of Winterhold.”

In that moment, Onmund felt his stomach fill with excitement and anxiety. Anxiety because it would mean leaving his family and Solitude for Divines know how long, and excitement because here was the ultimate opportunity to pursue his passion. No more weapons training. No pressure to join the Imperials in this Divineforsaken Civil War or become a Guard of Solitude like Gelf. 

He would find complete freedom from his family, but also isolation. What were the odds of other Nords studying at the college?

Banoras watched Onmund quietly, awaiting his response. When it didn’t seem forthcoming, he said, “I understand it is a difficult decision to make. You must weigh your options carefully. Just know this: If you go, you will have the opportunity to become a Master mage. If you stay, I’m afraid you are more likely to remain where you are.”

There was no decision now. Onmund swallowed and nodded. Only one option was acceptable.

**

“Please, reconsider,” Katlene said. She followed her younger son down the longest hall of their home. “Onmund!”

He was dressed in layers of travel clothing. All his personal belonging had been packed into a single bag which hung from his shoulders. “Mother, my mind is made.” Onmund said. He reached the end of the hall into a spacious living room, where his father and brother were sitting by the fire. 

Eldry looked up at Onmund. His grizzled face betrayed no heartfelt emotion upon seeing his son ready to leave for what could be the last time. The stoic man returned his gaze to the fire, but not before he picked up a pouch off a small table that sat between himself and Gelf. Dull clinking sounds came from within the pouch when he tossed it to Gelf.

Onmund held back a scoff. Perhaps his father had lost a bet, thinking Onmund would reconsider and stay. He turned to leave but felt his mother pull on his sleeve, stopping him. 

“ _ Eldry _ .” Katlene looked at her husband. “Say something! Who knows when we’ll see Onmund again.” Onmund’s mother was a proud Nordic woman, but even she couldn’t keep her voice from cracking.

Eldry continued to look into the fire, refusing even to say good bye. His elder son heaved a sigh and stood up, turning to face his mother and Onmund. 

With a grim expression Gelf walked over to his younger brother. “Onmund.” With a small sigh he held out the bag of Septims. “This is from me and father, for your journey.”

Onmund felt his throat tighten. He knew his father had never been good at expressing his emotions. But to show his sliver of support like this? A part of him wanted to slap the bag right out of Gelf’s hand. And he was about to do it too, but Gelf spoke up again.

“I still think you’re going to get yourself killed at that College. Turn into a smudge on the wall.” Gelf blinked before his lips pressed together into a thin line. He grabbed Onmund’ hand and pressed the leather bag into it. His grip on Onmund’s hand was tight and he looked up into his brother’s eyes. “But on the off chance that you don’t,” he said, “you best become the strongest, most formidable Mage there. Go show them what a Nord can do.” He took a deep breath in through his nose, eyes softening as he stepped back, pulling away his hands. “And for Talos’ sake, write home so mother knows you’re alive.”

Onmund laughed before he could stop himself. He swallowed and nodded, not trusting himself to speak with a steady voice. He looked at his brother one last time before turning to walk to the door. Katlene walked with him. 

Like her, Onmund had dark brown hair, but his blue eyes came from Eldry. And he was doing his best to keep those blue eyes dry. When he put his hand on the door, he felt Katlene’s grip on his arm tighten. Slowly, he came to put his hand over her. “Mother, I’ll be fine.” He spoke softly. “This is what I’m meant to do.”

“I know” she said, “and I don’t have to like it.” She squeezed his arm once more before her hands slipped away. “Take this with you.” Katlene removed the amulet she wore; Onmund had never in his life seen her without it. 

The amulet was a shining, golden disk, detailed with the design of their family crest: A wolf whose fur crackled with lightning.

Katlene put the necklace over his head. “May the Nine and my love protect you.” she whispered.

Onmund cleared his throat, but that didn’t prevent it from cracking. “Thank you Mother.” He shook his head and pulled her into one last crushing hug. When he pulled away, he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes for fear that if he did it would shake his resolve. He turned his gaze away and opened the front door.

The door shut heavily behind him and for a moment his legs refused to move. He felt a warm breeze come from down the street. The late summer this far north afforded Solitude mild weather, so why did such a pleasant breeze send a shiver down his spine?

It was only halfway through Last Seed, and the feeling of Autumn and the change of all things was coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> ~~~~  
> Thank you for reading!  
> If you enjoyed it, please let me know in the comments!


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